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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124119">So kiss Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehangout/pseuds/wehangout'>wehangout</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompts, tags added as necessary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:27:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehangout/pseuds/wehangout</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kissing prompts the lovely people of <a href="https://wehangout.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> sent me, but apparently not everyone has tumblr, so ...</p><p>Title comes from the song by Sixpence None the Richer. Most are short, one or to might have smut, and all can be considered canon-compliant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Anonymous asked for <i>an unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’re filthy, covered in blood and dirt, sweat and beer. Your clothes are ripped and one of your shoelaces is undone. Cuts sting your knuckles, your head, and there’s a scratch against your cheek from a crack in your tooth.</p><p>And you hurt. Your entire body <em>aches</em> in an all too familiar way, a way caused by Terry and only ever Terry. Even the ache after Ian left town, when you were alone with Terry and Svetlana and everyone else who didn’t give a shit, it was a different kind of ache, a sorrowful ache that surrounded your heart, come out in your words, was seen in your eyes …</p><p>This ache … this ache is all Terry.</p><p>You came out. To a bar full of people who know you and judge you and probably hate you now.</p><p>But you did it. And now you’re freer than ever. You’re free to be with Ian, to be who you fucking are, to do whatever the fuck you want.</p><p>And yet …</p><p>You’re still so fucking scared. Terrified.</p><p>Ian stayed. He fought with you. He shared his hipflask and gave you the only kind of comfort he knew you would allow. Your head still tingle from his lips, from the gentleness, from how fucking simple it was. A kiss on the head, casual and easy, as though he had been doing it always.</p><p>Maybe he’s wanted to do it always.</p><p>You stop in front of the gate to your house, and you’re still scared, still terrified, to go inside, but you’re also free. Freer. Ian makes you free, but Ian standing next to you, white breath mixing with yours in the cool night air, his body so close you can feel his heat and there’s no one – not a fucking person around – who can or will do anything about it … that makes you fucking liberated.</p><p>“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, almost a whisper.</p><p>“Kill for a shower.”</p><p>He opens the gate for you, steps aside to follow you in, but you stop at the door. Sigh, long and drawn out. Being scared is tiring. Being terrified is fucking exhausting.</p><p>Ian opens the door. He leads you inside with a hand at the small of your back. He takes you to the bathroom, turns on the shower, gets you out of your clothes. And he says nothing. Not a word. He stares at you with worried eyes, inspects your wounds while you stand there naked, and smiles a small smile when his gaze meets yours.</p><p>He gets you in the shower, hurriedly undresses, and joins you.</p><p>Dirt and blood swirl down the drain. It makes you nauseous, scared, exhausted. And then Ian’s in your space, body wet and warm against your own, and his hands reach for you, grasp your face in his, force you to look at him, not at everything you’re washing away.</p><p>And he’s gorgeous, even as blood and water drip down his face, he’s fucking beautiful, and for a second you wonder, just what the fuck someone like him is doing with you, but then he kisses you.</p><p>He kisses you and it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced, like no other kiss he’s ever given you, no other kiss you’ve shared with him.</p><p>It’s careful. It’s unhurried. It’s free of desire and full of concern.</p><p>It’s an unwinding coil in your stomach, loosening and releasing, freeing you of terror and fatigue. It’s no tongue and all wet lips. It’s hands that frame your face with something, something, something that feels an awful lot like</p><p><em>Something</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>grumblesandmumbles asked for <i>a kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.</i></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The guard walks you back to your cell cuffed. Procedure, sure, but you still hate it. No one likes when the cuffs come out, even if he is muttering about your good deed the whole walk back.</p>
<p>“Be sure to tell the warden,” he says, gaze flitting around the hall, eyeing up everything.</p>
<p>Someone was stabbed. In the laundry. While you were working. And now the entire block is on lockdown and it was all so fucking fucked. There’s only five of you down there at once – five guys and the occasional guard walking by – so while one person lay on the floor bleeding out, and another stood back and looked horrified at what he had done, the other two stood by and did nothing.</p>
<p>You used to be the guy who would stand back and do nothing. Not a fucking thing. Help someone out? Sure, but who? No matter who you help in a place like this, you’re taking sides and that puts you in danger. So you stand back and you wait for the guards to come and in fix everything.</p>
<p>But no guards came for a really long fucking time.</p>
<p>Or maybe Gallagher’s rubbing off on you.</p>
<p>Because you helped. Not the guy standing back, holding the shiv, turning paler by the second. You helped the guy on the floor who was bleeding from the gut. And, shit, you probably fucked things up for him even more when you grabbed dirty laundry and pressed it to his wound, but you ain’t no fucking medic and you did what felt right.</p>
<p>There was a moment, while blood seeped over your fingers, where you wished Ian were there. He’d know what to do, who to help, how to help them. He’d tell you what to do, throw instructions around, take fucking charge.</p>
<p>And you’d probably find it hot as hell, which might be a little fucked up.</p>
<p>You sniff and look around the common area as the guard leads you through it. It’s weird. Not your first lockdown – not even close – but one of very few you’ve spent out of cell. It’s Ian’s first lockdown, though. He’s only been in this hellhole for two weeks, and he puts on a fucking brave face every goddamn day, but …</p>
<p>But you know him.</p>
<p>You don’t know if you would ever be together had you not come back.</p>
<p>You don’t know if he wants you or if it’s just easy.</p>
<p>You don’t know if he still loves you like he did at the border.</p>
<p>But you know him.</p>
<p>And you know the sirens, the flashing lights, the panic, will have him scared. You just hope that no one told him what happened and where.</p>
<p>Because you do know that he cares. You just don’t know how much.</p>
<p>The guard stops outside your cell to unlock the cuffs. You rub at your wrists, knowing Ian’s inside, standing behind the line like a good little inmate. You wait while the guard unlocks the door, checks the cell, then moves aside to let you in.</p>
<p>You walk past and consider, just for a second, thanking him for the clean jumpsuit. He’s one of the better guards, sure, and it’d probably give you an in with him later down the track, but when you look up and see Ian, all words disappear.</p>
<p>He’s pale. Extra pale with that stupid black hair, sure, but even more so when he stares at you with wide eyes and sunken cheeks. You want to go to him, reassure him that this is normal, lockdowns happen all the time, he’ll totally get used to them eventually, but you do none of that. You stare at him and wait for the guard to close and lock the door behind you and then you open your mouth to say something.</p>
<p>But he grabs you, arms around your waist, mouth to yours, in a breath-taking kiss that makes you see starts. Literally. He holds you, arms wrapped tightly around your chest, holding you to him tighter than he ever has before, and he steals your breath away.</p>
<p>He’s kissed you like this before, many times, but he’s never held you this way. Even the night he admitted himself to the psych ward – it was emotional and heart-breaking and you both held on as tight as your exhausted bodies would allow – but it wasn’t <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>This is bone-crushing. This is heart-stopping. This is jail breaks and van kisses and <em>let’s ride</em>.</p>
<p>He doesn’t go far when he pulls back – his forehead against yours, arms still wrapped tightly around you. He hugs you for so long that all you can do is hug him back, hold on tight, hope you never have to let go.</p>
<p>“I was worried,” he finally whispers.</p>
<p>“It’s just a lockdown, man, happens all the time.”</p>
<p>He pulls back that little bit more, looks at you with wet eyes. “Someone got stabbed in the laundry. I was worried.”</p>
<p>You didn’t know if you would ever be together had you not come back.</p>
<p>You didn’t know if he wanted you or if it was just easy.</p>
<p>You didn’t know if he still loved you like he did at the border.</p>
<p>And now you know. You know everything.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://wehangout.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>sickness-health-all-that-shit asked for <i>a gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.</i></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The song is slow, some top-40 hit you’ve never heard of before. You don’t suppose Ian has, either, but he still gets up and dances with you. He <em>dances</em> with you and fuck does that blow your mind. You never thought you would be here, slow dancing with your husband in front of his family, the okay dudes he worked with at the club, his gay Jesus followers …</p>
<p>Shit. Forget about gay Jesus, the guys from the club, and his family … you never thought you’d have a husband, and you sure as shit never thought you would slow dance with a guy.</p>
<p>But you’re doing it. With your husband. In front of everyone.</p>
<p>And you’ve never been happier.</p>
<p>Not when Ian proposed. Not when he kissed you for the first time as your husband. Not when you were dancing and partying with him and everyone only an hour ago, jumping around the dancefloor like a fucking idiot, high on serotonin and dopamine and a few too many beers.</p>
<p>Maybe that was your first dance as husband and husband – and you’re too fucking happy to frown at how corny that sounds – but this feels like the first dance. A slow dance. Gentle swaying, arms wrapped tightly around each other, the tranquillity of feeling like no one else is in the room.</p>
<p>He lifts his head to yours, temple to temple, his lips against your ear.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe we’re slow dancing. You know how many times I imagined this?”</p>
<p>You grin, tighten your arms around his waist. “Can’t believe I married such a soft bitch.”</p>
<p>“Can’t believe I got to marry the guy I’ve been in love with since I was fifteen.”</p>
<p>Your breath catches at that, but you push on. “Can’t believe I married the first guy who took me to a gay bar.”</p>
<p>“<em>First</em> guy?”</p>
<p>“What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico, man.”</p>
<p>He nuzzles his nose into your cheek. “Can’t believe I let you go without me.”</p>
<p>“Can’t believe you got that far in the first place.”</p>
<p>He’s silent for a moment. The song changes, but he keeps holding you, swaying with you, dancing with you.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe Terry didn’t ruin this shit,” you say, and you can feel his smile on your skin, his teeth nip at your earlobe.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe Terry Milkovich’s son loves havin’ my dick up his ass.”</p>
<p>“Can’t believe we’ve been married for almost two hours and you haven’t fucked me yet.”</p>
<p>“Hmmm,” he presses the softest of kisses to your neck and you shiver. “Can’t believe you’ve held out this long without begging for it.”</p>
<p>“Can’t believe you haven’t begged me to blow you in the bathroom yet,” you say, voice low, desperate to hold it together. “You seen how fuckin’ good I look in this suit?”</p>
<p>He pulls back, meets your gaze. “You really fuckin’ do, Mick.”</p>
<p>He leans down, kisses you, his closed lips pressed against yours as though you hadn’t just been talking about sucking his dick in the bathroom. Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except your husband’s lips on yours, your husband’s arms around you, your husband being your husband.</p>
<p>And when your husband – fuck, and that will never get old – deepens his kiss, slips his tongue into your mouth, digs his fingers into your shoulder blades, it’s still all that matters. Ian as your husband, everything he does as your husband – that all you care about.</p>
<p>You kiss him back, press your hands into his hips, lick at the roof of his mouth until he gasps into yours, but you don’t stop, you’re never going to stop. You pull him closer, feel him against you, and <em>yeah</em>, <em>fuck yeah</em>, maybe you <em>will</em> beg him to fuck you, maybe <em>you</em> will beg to blow him in the bathroom, because he fucks his own tongue against your own and you’re so fucking hard, so fucking ready, so fucking desperate …</p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p>Ian pulls back, breathing hard, stares at you. You stare back until someone shoves your shoulder.</p>
<p>You glare at Sandy. “<em>What</em>?”</p>
<p>“Thought I might get everyone together to say goodbye, that way you two can get the fuck outta here and bang in private.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Ian says, before you can think of a snappy comeback. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://wehangout.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Anonymous asked for <i>one person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss</i> or <i>staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force</i> so I did both in one</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You’re high. So high. So. Very. Fucking. <em>High</em>.</p>
<p>And you can’t stop staring at Ian, which isn’t that weird, because Ian is hot as fuck, but you can’t stop staring at his <em>lips</em>, and he’s just sitting there, staring back, and you’re both so fucking high.</p>
<p>There’s a movie playing in the background. You can’t remember which one, but you know it’s Jet Li and you know that because he’s awesome. It could be any of his fucking movies and it would be awesome because he’s fucking awesome.</p>
<p>The leftover pizza is awesome, too. Ian ordered pineapple on one, which what the fuck, but you don’t care. It’s still awesome. Maybe because of the beer and movie or the killer weed, but whatever. The pineapple was awesome.</p>
<p>No one else is home, and that’s really fucking awesome. Mandy’s somewhere. Iggy’s somewhere. Svet and the kid are somewhere. You don’t know, you don’t care. All you care about is being alone with Ian, smoking weed with Ian, kissing Ian.</p>
<p>Maybe you <em>should</em> kiss him. It would be so easy, so natural. It <em>is</em> natural now, for the two of you to kiss. So you should kiss him. You <em>will</em> kiss him.</p>
<p>Soon.</p>
<p>Eventually.</p>
<p>Once you can tear your gaze away from his mouth because <em>wow</em>.</p>
<p>You’ve seen and felt what that mouth can do, what those lips can do. There’s not a single part on your body those lips haven’t touched, and that thought alone makes your breath heavy, your gaze heavy, your entire body <em>heavy</em>.</p>
<p>You’re so fucking high.</p>
<p>You want to kiss him, but you don’t want to stop looking. When people get home – movie over, pizza gone – you can’t look so much. You can’t sit on the couch and <em>stare</em> at him like he’s the most magnificent person you’ve ever seen, and since he <em>is</em> the most magnificent person you’ve ever seen, that’s all you want to do. All the time.</p>
<p>You lift a finger, no thought to it until you <em>touch</em>. You touch and he breathes, hot and wet, against the pad of your finger and you can feel it, everywhere. His lips are dry, soft, slightly chapped from the summer sun. And you love them. You trace your finger over them, methodically, dreamily, touching and staring and fixing every crease and edge to memory.</p>
<p>His breathing gets louder, rougher, choked on every inhale and shaky on every exhale and you watch, you stare at his lips as each breath goes in, as each breath comes back out, and that’s it, that’s it, you can’t not …</p>
<p>You’re so fucking high.</p>
<p>You drag your fingers to his chin, his jaw, and you pull him to you with nothing but your fingertips, and you’re either really fucking strong when you’re high, or he wants this, wants you to kiss him as much as you want to kiss him because he moves with you, at your touch, as though pulled by an invisible current that simply won’t stop.</p>
<p>You hope it never stops.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <a href="https://wehangout.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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